


Syrios in Space

by cristobalrios



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Amputee main character, Cristóbal Rios cares too much but claims he doesn't, Disaster Gays, Emil is way too smug, Everyone on this ship is a disaster, Gay S'vec Sylar, Hurt Cristóbal Rios, Ian is a bastard, Indirect PTSD trigger, M/M, PTSD, Pansexual Cristóbal Rios, Sassy Emil, So is Rios, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Sylar is easily distracted, Syrios, Syrios in Space, Trauma, but I mean that in the fondest possible way, inappropriate use of sickbay biobeds, poor Steward but at least he gets something he wants, some small amounts of blood, suicide attempt (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25218772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristobalrios/pseuds/cristobalrios
Summary: A collection of fics of Syrios pre-series, during Picard, and post-season 1.
Relationships: Cristóbal Rios/Original Male Character(s), Cristóbal Rios/S'vec Sylar, Cristóbal Rios/S'vec Sylar (Original Male Character)
Kudos: 4





	1. Easily Distracted

**Author's Note:**

> S'vec Sylar belongs to Telas_Selar.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cris gets in trouble with a client, comes back to the ship injured. Emil and Sylar are concerned. Cris would rather be kissing his bondmate than having his wounds be treated. Eventually Emil makes sure Cris can't distract Sylar for too long. | Timing is ambiguous. Could be pre-series, could be post-season 1. I originally said pre-series but it doesn't have to be.

“Ian, get me the hell out of here!” Cris’s disgruntled voice said into his combadge.

“Aye aye, sir!” Ian responded as he beamed the captain aboard, who then collapsed on the transporter pad. “Activate EMH!” Ian shouted to the computer, and Emil appeared by the transporter pad.

“What is the nature of your medical emergency?” He frowned at the captain on the floor. “Captain, this was supposed to be a simple job, how did you manage to become such a bloody mess?” He asked, and his use of the word ‘bloody’ had a double meaning, as the captain was bleeding on the glowing white surface of the pad.

The captain glared up at him.

“Help him down to sickbay, I’ll tell the doctor to get ready for him.” Ian told him.

“I’m fine,” Cris insisted. Emil leaned down to help the captain up but he held up his hand to indicate that he could get up fine without help. “It’s a minor injury, no need to concern Sylar with it.” Sylar would fuss over him in that bizarrely calm Vulcan way of his. On the outside, ‘fuss’ might not seem like the best word-choice, but how else was he supposed to describe the concern and disregard for anything else if the captain was even a little bit hurt? He exhaled sharply as he used his hands to push himself up off the pad, with some effort, that was almost not enough as he nearly fell again, and he would’ve if Emil hadn’t caught him.

“You definitely need medical attention, sir.” Emil told him, and Cris couldn’t argue with that (although he wouldn’t object to another form of attention from their CMO). Not logically anyway, but he wasn’t the logical one on the ship so that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Just get me a cane. It’ll be healed in a couple of days. It’s not that bad, it’s just on my leg, so my balance is off.” He defended.

“And how do you expect to hide it from Sylar for several days, especially if you’ll need a cane to walk anywhere? You can’t avoid him for that long. You’d never be able to keep it up.” He chided, with a knowing look. Cris gave a disapproving look but sighed defeatedly. Emil adjusted his grip on the captain, who yelped in pain as Emil noticed blood seeping through the captain’s shirt. “I thought you said it was just your leg?”

Cris looked a little guilty. “… Alright, so there’s a small injury on my shoulder, and maybe on my side—I wasn’t going to mention it. It’s—”

“‘Not a big deal,’ yeah, I’ve heard it before.” Emil rolled his eyes. “You’re getting patched up.”

The captain, having no choice, did not struggle with the EMH as he guided him to sickbay.

Ian touched his combadge as he watched the captain limp away supported by the EMH. “EEH to Dr. Sylar.”

Sylar responded immediately, still looking at his PADD. “Go ahead.”

“The captain’s back from the job early. I don’t know what happened down there, but he has at least three injuries. They don’t look very serious, but Emil is helping him to sickbay anyway. They will be to you shortly.”

Sylar put his PADD down. “Understood.”

“EEH out.” Ian said, then he sighed at the pool of blood smeared on the transporter pad. He did not want to have to clean that up. “Activate the EHH.” He said to the computer, and Steward appeared.

“What is the nature of your hospitality emergency?” Steward asked.

“Could you clean this up? I have barely gotten started running my monthly diagnostics of the ship’s systems. I have a ton of work to do.” Ian said, gesturing to the pool of blood.

Steward stared down at it with a concerned frown. “What happened? Is the captain alright?” He asked. “He certainly made a mess.” He said disapprovingly.

“Judging by the fact that he had the usual amount of stubbornness against being treated, he’s fine. And I’m sure he won’t be complaining nearly as much once Sylar’s treating him.” Ian said with a smirk.

Steward considered for a moment but relented. “Alright, I’ll do it, this once, as long as the first diagnostic you run is on the holodeck. I know there’s something buggy with the holo-emitters there and I’ve been asking you to check it out for over a week.” Steward told him sternly.

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it laddie. No need to be snippy.” It was better than mopping up blood.

Ian left to go check out the holodeck as Steward got a bucket and summoned a holographic mop to clean up the mess, muttering something about the only hospitality emergencies on this ship being cleaning up the captain’s blood by hand since the cleaning bots weren’t effective on the transporter pad, and he briefly considered trying to transport the blood into space instead, wondering if that would actually work. He paused, and his eyes flashed white for a minute, but he quickly resumed his work and dismissed any thoughts about what just happened and what he had been thinking about.

\---

The stairs were too narrow for them to get down the steps side-by-side, so Cris insisted the rails were enough to help him down, and Emil deactivated only to appear at the bottom of the stairs a moment later, ready to help the captain the rest of the way once he was down. Cris put his hands on both railings and slid down the stairs, both of his feet held up above the steps as he did so, and the movement was smooth and practiced despite his small wince from the pain the movement caused to his injured shoulder.

Sylar watched this, a fascinated and impressed expression on his face as he came out of sickbay to assist the EMH with the captain. He easily took the captain’s weight off the EMH’s shoulders. “I can take it from here. Thank you, Emil.”

Cris willingly leaned against Sylar as Emil released him to the doctor. The captain was clearly happier in Sylar’s arms than in the EMH’s. “Will you need any help?” Emil asked.

“Ian said his injuries are minor, but I will see that for myself.” The doctor replied. “I do not believe I will need your help with the captain.”

“Relatively,” Emil answered, but nodded. “Alright. I’ll finish cataloguing the newest shipment of supplies. I noticed you have decided to change the categorization process again; I’ll have to familiarize myself with it.” He had a fond tone of slight exasperation at their Chief Medical Officer’s inability to stick to one method of organization for their supplies. He supposed there isn’t much else to do in the medical field on the ship until the captain decides to get himself hurt again, which is often but there is often time in between injuries.

“This seemed more efficient.” The Vulcan explained.

 _“Right.”_ Emil responded, and Sylar’s brows quirked up but the captain cleared his throat.

“You know, that cataloguing and reorganization stuff sounds very important, so I could just get back up to the bridge and let you two—”

Both doctors looked at the captain as he tried once again to get out of treatment. “I do not believe that is wise, captain.” Sylar said, and Emil nodded.

“You can’t even walk on your own.” Emil added.

“Then can we get this over with?” Cris asked through gritted teeth.

“Right away, sir.” Sylar responded as he easily helped the captain into sickbay and up onto a biobed.

Emil stayed in the lab portion of sickbay and began unloading a box of new medical supplies, going between that and looking at the PADD Sylar had placed down on the desk moments before, to check things off and make sure he was following Sylar’s newest method of categorization.

Sylar began to examine Cris’s bleeding leg, and Cris winced as his movement irritated it. “How’s it looking?” Cris asked.

“I believe it is slightly fractured, sir, but it is a minor fracture and is easily fixed.”

Cris sighed. “How long will that take?” He asked.

“The approximate time would be half an hour, Captain, but it can be done in fifteen or forty-five minutes, depending on the seriousness of it. We will know more when I have done a more thorough examination.” Cris nodded. “Ian said you had three injuries, sir?”

He was kind of hoping they’d forget about them, but he nodded. “Right. Those should be faster. I’m pretty sure they’re just flesh-wounds. I was lightly grazed.”

“I would like to at least examine them before I take any longer on your leg, sir.” Cris obligingly removed his shirt so the doctor could see, and likely treat, his other two wounds. Sylar watched the captain’s movement with wide, amazed eyes and a very light tinge of green on his cheeks as his eyes scanned the captain’s chest, watching the way his muscles moved and flexed as he removed his shirt. It took him a moment, almost long enough for Cris to notice, before he snapped out of it and moved to examine the wound on the captain’s shoulder first, then the one on his side.

Cris watched Sylar closely, pleased with his sudden close proximity and the feeling of his warm, extremely gentle hands on his bare skin. The monitor on the biobed beeped at the increase in Cris’s heartrate at the feeling of Sylar’s touch, and Sylar looked up with concern. Cris blushed. “I’m alright. It’s just-- That feels good.” He explained.

Sylar’s brows furrowed. “Good, captain? Do your injuries not hurt?” He asked.

“Oh, no, the injuries certainly hurt. I meant your touch.” Cris clarified.

Sylar went back to his examination, ignoring the captain’s comment but the green tinge returned to his cheeks.

“You know, you have a pleasingly gentle touch.” Cris said slowly as he took one of Sylar’s hands in both of his.

“I have been tol—" Sylar would have continued his examination of the captain’s injuries, but instead he stared down at their hands as Cris gently caressed his. His cheeks were a much darker shade of green and he suppressed a moan as the captain touched his very sensitive skin.

Cris looked up at the doctor beneath his lashes, a smug smile on his face at the fact that he had successfully distracted Sylar from his examination, and his index finger slowly caressed the stump of Sylar’s missing little finger as the rest of his fingers found Sylar’s fingertips, and Sylar was unable to suppress his moan that time. “Captain—” The first one was a moan of pleasure, but that word seemed to make him recall what they were supposed to be doing, “Captain, I really should—”

That wouldn’t do. “Shut up and kiss me, Viejo.” Cris said as he grabbed Sylar’s uniform shirt and pulled him down to kiss him.

“Sir.” Sylar acknowledged the… order? The captain would insist it was a request but Sylar would not refuse either way, and his eyes widened typically as their lips met, but he soon melted into it and Cris smiled against his lips, humming in satisfaction, and the beeping from the monitor became faster as Sylar gently bit Cris’s lower lip, eliciting a moan from the captain.

Cris’s arms wrapped around Sylar and into his hair, but unfortunately, as he did so, the injury on Cris’s shoulder bumped into Sylar, and he tried to ignore the pain, but it was rather difficult. “Mierda.” Cris cursed.  
Sylar frowned and pulled back. “Are you alright, sir?”

“Wait, no—” Cris protested as Sylar pulled away, and he tried to pull him back. “I’m fine.”

“But your injuries—” Sylar said, remembering what the captain was so determined to make him forget.

“They can wait.” Cris said, but then he looked at Sylar and sighed. “You’re probably right.” Damn. He laid back on the biobed with a small huff of frustration but then smiled up at Sylar as he looked at Sylar’s disheveled hair, a bit of smug satisfaction in that smile that made Sylar blush, and stare down at his captain’s bared muscles as Cris laid back. “Sylar?”

“Sir.” He quickly got back to tending to the captain’s wounds, trying to act like nothing happened, when Emil walked in.

“Maybe I’ve been doing medical examinations wrong this whole time, or perhaps our process has changed since Sylar’s native 23rd century far more than I had thought.” He said, arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

Cris glared up at him. “Don’t you have cataloguing to do?”

“I finished that package, and I figured the doctor might need my help. He’s helpless against your distraction tactics.” Emil explained. “Clearly I was right.”  
Sylar’s brow furrowed. “Distraction tac—”

“I was the one who got distracted. His hands are so damn soft and gentle, how am I supposed to resist his physician’s hands?” Was it a distraction tactic? Possibly. But it was probably better for Sylar to think of it this way than the other way.

“Either way, I’ll keep you both focused.” Emil replied.

Cris huffed. “Fine.” He crossed his arms across his chest then winced in pain at the movement hurting his arm.

“I’ve got it.” Emil grabbed the dermal regenerator.

“It really isn’t worth the effort—” Cris protested, but Emil did not accept that as an answer.

“Shut up Captain, I am fixing your arm.” Emil told him. He can be just as stubborn as the captain. He got it from him, after all.

“Whatever just do it quickly.” Cris relented.

“Yes, sir.” Emil began to fix the wound on Cris’s shoulder as Sylar started running a deeper scan on the captain’s leg. “So, how did you get these injuries, anyway?This was a simple job, there shouldn’t have been any complications.”

Cris stayed silent for a moment. “Well I—Apparently our client was secretly running an orphanage out of business, I mean illegally chasing them out of their own property because he claimed it was interfering with his business, and I tried to stay out of it, but Emil you should have seen those kids—”

Emil’s smile was soft and genuine and their bleeding-heart captain who tried to act like as if he didn’t give a shit about anyone, and utterly failing whenever he met someone in distress. Emil realized he’s never actually seen a child, but he remembers them from Cris’s memories, and the captain has always been good with children. Maybe Emil will meet some children one day.

“Well anyway, I couldn’t let him get away with it, so I called the local authorities on him, but he didn’t take too kindly to that. He’s in the custody of the authorities now, and I gave his cargo we were transporting to the orphanage.” The captain finished his story.

“You’re a saint, Captain.” Emil responded teasingly.

Cris frowned slightly. “That’s bullshit. For one, you have to be dead to be a saint.” Most saints were martyrs, and he does not do martyrdom.

“This could have gone a lot worse. You’re probably lucky you only got these fairly minor injuries.” Emil said. “Next time you decide to piss off a dangerous client, let us know in advance?” Emil finished healing the wounds on the captain’s shoulder and side. “Alright, now Sylar just needs to fix your leg, then you two can go back to abusing my sickbay.” He paused. “ _Sylar’s_ sickbay,” he corrected.

Sylar blushed but made no other acknowledgement of the EMH’s teasing, and Cris smiled in smug satisfaction. “Oh, I plan to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably have more chapters of other one-shots, possibly connected one but I think if I'm going to be doing a multi-chaptered one it will be separately.


	2. Beautiful Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cris cancels a date that would have been an uncomplicated night of relaxation in favor of the much more puzzling relationship between him and his CMO that may be completely in his head (hint: it's not). | Pre-series, early Syrios/pre-Syrios, reposted so it's actually in the miscellaneous Syrios one-shot collection instead of a standalone one-shot.

Rios walked into sickbay, watching Sylar who seemed very focused on what he was doing, who didn’t seem to notice him until he stopped right in front of him, and even then he just glanced in his direction. “Did you not have a… date, sir?” Sylar asked, keeping his focus primarily on what he was doing.

“… I did, but—It got cancelled.” Sylar’s brow quirked and Rios frowned for a second. “Actually, I cancelled it. I… Wasn’t as into it as I thought I would be.” When it happened, when the date was made, Sylar had no reaction, and it… Shouldn’t have hurt. It shouldn’t be frustrating. It should be expected. Why would he react to it? It had nothing to do with him, right? And… He doesn’t have emotions, even more than Vulcan suppression. So what had he been expecting? Maybe it wasn’t expecting, so much as… Wishing. Wishing Sylar would show any sign he did not want him to go out tonight, but he just… Stayed quiet. Stayed formal. Rios usually found it endearing but at the moment it was just irritating. Frustrating. And maybe, he thought, a part of him agreed to the date to spite him, maybe he’d hoped to make him jealous, but Sylar wouldn’t do that. He certainly wouldn’t voice it. Rios didn’t even know if—whatever they have going on, it might not even be anything. It might just be all in Rios’s head. Right now… Has Sylar been more formal than usual? He’s always formal, but—He had seemed a little colder. “I would rather be here tonight.” He told him. He didn’t mean on La Sirena. He meant here, in Sickbay (a place he’d actively avoided until Sylar came aboard). Here, with Sylar.

“That does seem to fit your personality, Captain, but even the more reserved Terrans are still social creatures, and should occasionally spend time with other people.” Sylar informed him, and Rios frowned at that response.

“I don’t want to spend time with other people. Besides, I have your company. I’m not alone,” he insisted. Why does it hurt that Sylar seemed to be almost encouraging him to go, when he so desperately wanted Sylar to tell him to stay?

“I am not very good company, sir.” Was Sylar’s response.

Of course he’d say that. It was simply a lie, and Rios was almost offended by it, but he didn’t let it show because he knew Sylar meant it. And that he’s probably been told that all his life. “Well, I enjoy your company…” Cris told him, and Sylar had a lightly confused look on his face and he thought, for a second, that the doctor’s cheeks seemed slightly greener than they had before, which only encouraged Rios. He didn’t give a shit anymore if he had been reading the signs wrong. That slight blush, no matter how subtle, felt like a reaffirmation of Cris’s theory. Or he’s projecting, seeing what he wants to see. That was also incredibly likely. But he didn’t really care if Sylar hasn’t been flirting with him (alright, that’s not entirely true; It would definitely hurt if he found out that he was just projecting, and Sylar never meant for him to think he was flirting with him). The important thing was, that he wanted Sylar. He wanted to be here, and talk to him, spend time with him, and vaguely possibly flirt and whatever the hell this was, he preferred it over anything else, even if the date tonight would have been a hell of a lot less complicated. Very straightforward compared to the mess that was his relationship with his CMO. But the mess was better. Even the chance that this thing with Sylar could be something, at some point, if he was extremely lucky, was worth more than the guarantee tonight would have brought.

Cris leaned his head in his hand that rested on Sylar’s desk, staring at him without any sign of embarrassment. Sylar was suspiciously focused on his task and Cris thought, for a moment, that he might be blushing again. If he was ever blushing in the first place. It’s so damn hard to tell. “So, what are you doing? Is this one of your experiments?” He asked. “The EMH told me you’ve been working with old, discontinued drugs from Earth that were unstable, trying to fix the issues.”

“Yes, sir.” Sylar responded.

“Can you tell me about it?” Cris asked. Sylar obliged without hesitation, telling him about the intricacies of whatever the hell he was trying to do, and Cris tried to pay attention, but most of it went over his head (medicine has never been his strong suit, and he only ever did the bare minimum required at the academy for it), but he loved hearing Sylar’s voice and found the way Sylar’s lips were moving as he spoke to be very distracting, and his beautiful blue eyes that always reminded Cris of the sea he loved so much, and he was content to imagine Sylar’s hands caressing him as he watched those talented hands demonstrate something Rios had almost completely lost track of what it was, and Sylar was completely oblivious to how little Rios was truly understanding, or just where his mind had wandered off to. But he did pay attention, somewhat. Enough to appear engaged in what Sylar was doing and occasionally ask more questions, just to keep him talking and it lasted for hours and the date was all but forgotten. Yes, he definitely preferred this to however the date – the date with someone who wasn’t Sylar, that he must have been insane to consider – would have gone. Whatever this is, whatever they are, was worth the confusion and doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting this chapter here because it's bugging me that it's separate from my Syrios in Space collection. I actually wrote this one first. This was the first fic I posted on here besides the two poems.


	3. He Wanted to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short Drabbles & One-Shots from Tumblr prompts.  
> Two instances of things Cris wanted to say to Sylar but didn't, at different points in their relationship, and one of the many times Cris had to save Sylar from a flirting ferengi that he was oblivious to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small drabbles from Tumblr memes. The first is pre-Syrios/early Syrios, before Cris knew much about Sylar's past. The second is deep into Syrios. The third is still pre-Picard S1 but also deep into Syrios.

**_To Sylar -_ ** [ **_plaktow-ed_ ** ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/plaktow-ed) **\- Early Syrios/Pre-Syrios**

 **He wanted to say:** I don't know everything that happened to you but I do understand your pain. I can see how much you are hurting and I want to help you but I know sometimes it's better to leave it alone. Sometimes you should not pick at a scab, and instead let it fall off in its own time. We both have things in our pasts we'd rather forget, and I can respect that. Silence can be better than burning questions. Sometimes just company is comforting and better than digging up graves of the past. But if at any point your burden becomes too much for you to bare on your own, know that I am here and I've been told I'm a good listener, and I can help you carry that burden.

 ** **But all he said was:**** "I'll be fine. Thank you, Doctor."

 **_To Sylar -_ ** [ **_plaktow-ed_ ** ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/plaktow-ed) **\- Syrios**

 **He wanted to say:** Our love burns so deep within our veins. We crave the pain we bring each other. You don't want my suffering and I don't want your, but that's the only way either of us could allow ourselves to cling to it. Sometimes there's a fine line between self-care and self-harm and our relationship dances back-and-forth across it and that's the only way we could accept it. You're like anything else that brings me any kind of peace; the alcohol that burns my throat, the cigars that burn my lungs, the exertion that burns my muscles and your love that sears my heart.

 **But all he said was:** "I enjoy your company."

**Tumblr Meme:[Fifty ways to kiss someone. send me a 💏 and I will randomize a number in order for my muse to kiss yours…](https://cristobalrios.tumblr.com/post/619694644805222400/sagamemes-fifty-ways-to-kiss-someone-send-me)** **\- 46 = …out of envy or jealousy.**

They briefly stopped at a space station for supplies, and _of course_ Rios can’t leave Sylar alone for five minutes. Especially not on a space station. The resident Ferengis somehow always manage to find him, like those giant ears have some kind of Sylar-finding radar or something. And naturally he was flirting with him and _does_ Sylar know it? Can Sylar understand that somehow he is Ferengi bait? You _have to_ be upfront with Ferengis. They don’t back down easily. You have to smack them in the face with it (and Rios would very much like to, but there’s also another, less-violent approach that can be effective).

Rios took Sylar’s hand, turning him slightly to face him and pressed a long, firm kiss to his lips as his hand rested on the back of Sylar’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'vec Sylar belongs to Telas_Selar. The third one is a bit similar to something that happened just before the start of one of our threads, The River in Reverse.


	4. Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angsty romantic drabble about space and the sea and his husband's mind.

I speak of the sirens’ call with an almost dark nostalgia. I still feel the pull of their song, the pull of the sea, as their song echoes through my head. I don’t know what the others heard to make them jump over the edge but I would do it just for the promise of the sea engulfing me and a deep, dark, quiet sleep down at the bottom of the ocean. Nothing makes my heart ache and yearn for home more than their quiet lullaby. I don’t mean my mother’s home, although that always felt safe to me. I don’t even mean the ship, although she is home to me.

Space sounds different – I know, space doesn’t _sound_ anything, there is no sound in space – but I mean her call. It is close to the song of the ocean, but darker and colder but still so alluring and it takes my breath away (literally; there’s no air in space).

Agnes said that space is cold and empty and it wants to kill, but it doesn’t want to kill. It doesn’t want anything at all. It is unfeeling, emotionless; I expected you to be like space, as distant, unfeeling, cold. That is what they told me you were. But I know better now. You are the sea I love so much. It is an easy mistake to make to the unexperienced. They are both cold, merciless and deadly. Maybe once you were more like space, but now your mind is as tempestuous as the sea and as beautiful, and as dangerous. It would be easy for me to get lost if I did not know how to read the stars properly, or have a guide who does. It would be easy for me to get swept up in the waves, pushed under the water and suffocate from all your suffering and all of my grief caused by it, but I am a talented swimmer – I have had practice from my own pain to know how to traverse yours, or at least stay afloat – the emotions you do not understand, the pain you feel, hits me like a hurricane but I can see the beauty in the storms and I let it wash over me, I know not to fight with the current because I know the beauty of the ocean once the storm settles; I know the endless wonders of the sea, of your mind, is worth every thunderstorm and every hurricane and every whirlpool of pain and if it one day kills me, at least I know I will be where I belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'vec Sylar belongs to Telas_Selar.


	5. Hidden Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starfleet sends a file to Cris. Emil and Emmet encourage him to accept their request.

“What do you have there, captain?” Emil asked as Cris stared at his holoPADD.  
Cris looked up, slightly startled, “What—oh. Nothing, just… It’s not important.”  
Emil grabbed the PADD from him. “Starfleet? What do they want— _Oh._ Well, that’s interesting! A time warp carrying a ship from the past? It says they need to reassign the officers. They sent you a file—”  
Cris attempted to grab it back but Emmet grabbed it before he could.  
 _“¡Él es hermoso!”_ Emmet exclaimed as Cris successfully took the PADD from him.  
“Give me that!” He said, placing the PADD on the desk and shutting the file.  
“What are you going to do about it, Captain?” Emil asked.  
Cris huffed. “Nothing. We don’t need anyone. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s a doctor, do you really want him filling your position?” Cris asked pointedly.  
“… Well, maybe you would be more cooperative with someone else. It is my job to make sure you are healthy and if that means having someone else’s help to ensure it, I’m not really the jealous type. Having an extra pair of hands wouldn’t hurt. Besides, you need company. Someone tangible, organic… Someone who doesn’t share your face. It’s not healthy for you this way.” Emil explained.  
“You know he would outrank you, right? You’re an emergency hologram and with another physician on board, you really would be needed only for emergencies.” Cris pointed out.  
Emil shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll manage. He could probably use the help and if not, well, Steward manages fine despite not being called upon often—”  
Cris grunted vaguely.

Emmet managed to sneak the PADD away while the captain was talking to the EMH, reading the doctor’s file. He frowned at the description. There wasn’t a lot of details, but what little they had supplied to them was… Not light stuff and he knew there would be more there that’s not included in the file, whether because of Starfleet not being informed or them choosing to omit the information from this particular file sent to their captain. _“Capitán, debería leer esto,”_ Emmet told him as he placed the PADD back down in front of him.

“Just… Consider it before absolutely saying no, alright?” Emil asked, and Cris looked down at the PADD. “We’ll leave you to consider it.”

He sat down as he stared into the strange yet beautiful eyes of the holographically projected image of the man Starfleet was asking him to take on as his CMO. Emmet briefly patted Cris on the shoulder before he left along with Emil.

Cris continued to stare at the image, an image he had originally dismissed quickly because just that brief moment had piqued his interest and he didn’t want to fall into that trap. But here he was, staring into the holographic eyes of a beautiful Vulcan with a perfectly neutral expression, and yet had eyes that seemed to hold the entire world with hidden depths as deep and mysterious as the sea that they resembled, the sea that Cris yearned for. But why would they send this to him, and how did they find him? Those questions were quickly forgotten, however, when Cris began reading through his file and knew that he had to accept the reassignment of Lt. Cmdr. S’vec Sylar. He had to at least give him a chance.

_____________

**Translations:**

_“¡Él es hermoso!” – “He is beautiful!”_

_“Capitán, debería leer esto” – “Captain, you should read this.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'vec Sylar belongs to Telas_Selar.


	6. Caught in a Current of Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his husband shot him five times in the leg to save his life and then promptly decided to torture himself by working with his phaser to learn how to shoot more accurately until his hands bled, to prevent this from happening again, Rios cannot get certain thoughts out of his head concerning the several traumatic circumstances involving phasers he has had to live through. The only thing that seemed to silence these thoughts turned out to be disassembling Sylar's phaser and putting it back together in a way that disabled the kill setting. Although he has conflicting feelings about doing this, he puts it out of his mind and does not tell his husband, or fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after the "River in Reverse" thread on Tumblr, possibly during the follow-up thread of the aftermath we plan to do. Connected to Telas_Selar's fic "Captured in His Eyes"

His leg was healed. Completely better, as if nothing had happened. Unfortunately the seriousness of the wound—wounds, really; five of them—the seriousness of the wounds meant it wasn’t an injury he could ask to be left alone, it had to be fixed right away. Human bodies weren’t meant to recover from such serious wounds so quickly, which made the lasting psychological effect feel wrong. He didn’t want it to have any psychological effect. Sylar did what he had to do. Sylar saved his life. But Cris could still hear the phaser beam, five shots, replaying in his head, and he still jumped at loud noises. Still felt a phantom pain in his leg, expecting it to hurt when he walks but when no pain comes it’s disorienting. Is this a normal reaction? He couldn’t tell, but it felt like shit.

Sylar has been extremely attentive since it happened. He insisted that Cris take some time off from any other activities despite the injuries being healed, to recover from it psychologically. He wouldn’t leave his side the first few days, except when he thought he’s asleep. But then he took a couple shifts in Sickbay to give Cris some space. He didn’t really want space, but he didn’t want to take all of Sylar’s time when he knew that ‘relaxing’ was never comfortable to him. During that time, Cris learned, Sylar was tormenting himself by pushing himself too hard to learn how to properly shoot, injuring his hands in the process.

Cris didn't really know how he started doing this. He just felt restless and needed something to do with his hands, something simple he could do without thinking. Solid and repetitive he could do with his eyes closed. He's been taking phasers apart and putting them back together since he was a kid. It was familiar, and comforting. But this time was different. He hadn't really planned on doing this, but he kept thinking about the fact that Sylar had nearly killed himself just before he was transferred to La Sirena. And the phaser that would have been his cause of death was currently on his ship, _in his quarters,_ now that Sylar moved in with him. He found himself shielding his thoughts, or attempting to do so, from Sylar. He tried to tell himself that recent events had nothing to do with these thoughts, but his leg ached vaguely and obviously psychosomatically and he saw in his mind's eye the state of Sylar's hands when he found out what Sylar had been up to when he wasn't comforting Cris. How he worked with the phaser until his hands bled and never fixed the damage. Worked tirelessly to improve his aim so he would never have to shoot Cris five times in the leg ever again.

He had just wanted to see it. See the weapon that nearly took the life of his love before he ever got a chance to meet him. The weapon his husband would have used to commit suicide if he hadn't gotten the notification from Starfleet that he had been reassigned to his ship. The weapon Sylar was abusing himself with now, tormenting himself over his perceived failure and hurting his husband, even though his actions saved Cris’s life.

So he got it out. It was easy to find. Sylar barely has any possessions at all, and they worked together to find places for their things that was satisfactory to both of them now that they share a cabin. He got it out and felt it in his hands. Stared at it for several minutes. Carefully attempting to stop himself from imagining putting the thing in his mouth and shooting. Trying to stop himself from thinking of Sylar doing that, and thinking of the long hours Sylar has spent with it lately, from thinking about Vandem-- no. He can't. Not now. His hands were shaking.

Without thinking about anything at all, he found himself dissembling the phaser easily, despite shaking hands. He stared at the components in front of him. They didn't look like much when they were broken down into each individual piece like this. But all these pieces, when put together the right way, could take away everything he's ever cared about. And it hurts like hell.

It happened before. Right in front of him. It almost happened again, although he didn't actually know him at the time. That didn't make the knowledge any easier, especially when he has nearly lost Sylar to suicide several times by now. It was this particular phaser too. Sylar walked onto his ship with the phaser he had nearly killed himself with still in his possession. All this time he has had the weapon that almost ended his love's life on his ship. He felt better seeing it in pieces like this. Taking away its power. It wasn't a phaser this way. Just a pile of nothing important. Harmless. Basically scrap.

But it couldn't stay this way. Sylar had no idea he was doing this. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be getting into Sylar's things without his permission, let alone dissecting it, although if he asked, Sylar would not refuse him anything. But here he was. And he had to put it back.

Putting it back together was almost as simple as taking it apart. A standard-issue Starfleet phaser. Simple. He knew it like the back of his hand – an image of the back of Vandermeer's head flashed through his mind, and two other bodies he tried not to think about, with a hole straight through their heads, and blood and brains and unspeakable horrors splattered against the bulkhead and that _smell_ , and pain flared in his leg and he saw Sylar's hands stained green with his own blood and as he came to the last few pieces of the phaser... Something in his mind stopped him from completing it. He looked down at the weapon in his hands and realized with just a few more pieces it would work perfectly for the stun setting... But leave a few pieces out and it would make the kill setting useless. Harmless. And at least he would know that Sylar could never take his own life with this weapon.

It would be wrong to sabotage his own husband's weapon this way. He told himself it had nothing at all to do with Sylar shooting him. He didn't blame Sylar for that. Sylar had saved his life, and he trusts him completely. Although the timing may be suspicious, it was more because of what Sylar was doing to himself because of it. The fear of what else he might do to himself with it. That doesn't make it right. But he pocketed the last few pieces and put the weapon back where Sylar stored it without pausing to think about it anyway. He went to the box beneath his desk and got out an old cigar box with various small objects inside, most of it had belonged to Vandermeer, or came from that time, and quickly stashed the missing pieces there.

He shouldn't have done it. He felt numb as he sat down on his bed but he also felt a rush of adrenaline. A feeling of relief. Ignoring the gnawing feeling of guilt, the tears stinging his eyes, he focused on the idea that with that particular weapon, he would never have to worry about Sylar taking his own life. It wouldn’t stop him, if he really wanted to do it. Hell, it wouldn’t even stop him from doing it with a _phaser,_ all he would have to do was get one of the other phasers and various other pistol-like weapons around, although that wasn’t even Sylar’s first choice for method of suicide (he hated how he knew that). What Cris did was essentially useless. But it comforted him in an odd way that it shouldn’t. But he couldn’t tell Sylar what he did. He wouldn’t understand why he did it. He would assume it was because he shot him. He would only take it as a reinforcement of his need to learn to shoot properly, of his need to torture himself to do it. He understood that this could have dangerous repercussions, but he pushed the thought from his mind. He pushed any and all thoughts of the weapon from his mind so he no longer had to shield his thoughts from his husband (something he did not attempt often).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'vec Sylar belongs to Telas_Selar


	7. I Am Safe With Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's the only one I trust with my soul,  
> My mind and my heart and all my control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary taken from the last two lines of my poem "La Pesadilla del Caleuche" in the "Dance With the Devil in the Aftermath and Other Syrios Poems" collection.
> 
> Describes events that happened in three separate threads Dean and I had on Tumblr. The first is "Insomnia and Philosophy," a completed thread, the second is "The Artifact," mostly de-canonized because some of it conflicts with later things but the general concept is still canon (just without it actually being the Artifact from Picard that Sylar is asking about), and the last one is "The Incident," which was our longest thread and is now completed.

The first time we made telepathic contact, he did it without warning. He didn’t mean it to be violent, it was more like pleading, wanting to be understood and comforted when he couldn’t find the words in any other way I could understand. He wanted a connection, in his intoxicated state, with the only person he has left in his life. And we had a connection, we always did, at least I felt that. I know now that he always did too.

Melding is an intimate thing, and in Vulcan culture, you don’t have to ask your bondmate for permission. And that’s what he was doing. But it was jarring to have those images suddenly flood my mind. His nightmare, what drove him to chocolate poisoning (the images they forced into his mind, at least). It’s all blurry, but I remember images of the broken glass of a shattered mirror, an altered appearance to look like them, the dysphoria and dissociation that comes with doubting your own identity and the nature of your reality.

I’ve had that dream. The details are different but the effect is the same. It’s disconcerting. But it’s common with trauma. Still, I’d never felt it like that before. But I had to move on quickly, as I had to do from other things he showed me that night, most of which I wouldn’t get more context for until years later. Why do we always push our boundaries in response to trauma? It’s a pattern and it may not be healthy, but we need each other. We take comfort in each other’s arms, and bodies, and minds. I just pray to God that we never push each other too far.

The next time was something I asked for, after he informed me it was something he was capable of. It was my fault, what happened, I didn’t yet know exactly how to handle his conditioned need to help Romulans. As a doctor, he treats everyone who needs it with equal gentleness, makes no judgements of their worthiness; they’re all worthy if they need help – pure and just and unbiased. It is only logical. But when it comes to Romulans, there’s a stronger need deeply conditioned into his mind to go out of his way and bend over backwards and twist to their will to help them. So when he saw Romulans in need, he requested temporary leave from La Sirena to transfer to their ship to assist them. But it was too dangerous. I couldn’t let him go, couldn’t let him out of my sight. I didn’t know even close to every way the Romulans fucked with his mind, I still don’t – he won’t let me; it would cause more psychological damage than he’s willing to cause. But I knew some of it, and it was enough to ensure I would never let him get back into Romulan hands willingly – or so I thought. I didn’t yet know he never really left.

I told him his duty is to this ship, that I am his commanding officer, and ordered him not to leave. I yelled, too. I expressed my hurt and fear in anger and I should have _known_ what it would do, because I’d caused it before, but I—I didn’t stop myself. He asked if he could erase his memories of it, all of it. The encounter with the Romulans, that conversation, gone from his mind. That would have been so much easier. But I was selfish and hurt, and I didn’t want to be hurt without him knowing why. I didn’t want to treat him coolly, go through my pain without him at least being aware of it, and aware of the reason. So he wouldn’t wonder. I didn’t know the alternative would be so harsh.

I knew that he hurt himself; that he experiments on himself with little regard for the damage it causes, goes too far but heals himself afterward. I already made sure Emil kept an eye on him for that. But _this…_ It wasn’t for an experiment. The blend of acid he had replicated and drank knocked him out clean, with no time to inject himself with the hypospray he’d replicated to neutralize the effects. Emil got to him in seconds, but not in enough time to keep him from losing consciousness.

Emil had to treat him and my guilt was hell. It was my fault. And if he’d died, it would be my fault too. My anger would have driven another person I love to suicide—always damn heroes and _killers_ and good men just trying to save lives and I would live and die with their deaths on my conscience. The PTSD attack was the worst I had in years; I don’t really remember it. It’s all a blur of phaser beams and the smell of burnt flesh and the burn of acid and blood – red and green mixing, combining, flashing between the two and during that time I couldn't process what was real and what was a memory and what was a fabrication of the trauma.

Then he woke up. He woke up and I was allowed to see him and we talked. He answered many of my questions, but not all of them, about what happened, why he did it, what they had done to him and why what he did was necessary in his mind. He assured me that it was never his intention to kill himself, this time. It did not bring much comfort. But he did provide comfort another way. That was the first time I willingly let him into my mind, and he soothed my fears and calmed my mind in a way I didn’t know was possible. Better than any drug I’d taken in an attempt to combat the depression and PTSD, to compensate for the way the trauma fucked up my brain chemistry. For a little while, he made it right. And I held him in my arms and things were almost okay.

The last time before we were bonded forever was an accident, initially, but I couldn't let it go and it opened my mind to what we were capable of becoming and convinced me that I couldn’t have our relationship any other way. It always comes closely on the heels of trauma, when we’re both at our most vulnerable and in need of the comfort and the connection. I had just seen Soji for the first time and that part is all a blur. I couldn’t focus and the admiral became agitated with it, not knowing what I was going through – but how could he? How could he have known his synth girl would connect back to my trauma he knew next to nothing about? What were the odds of it ending up this way? I couldn’t believe it – but I was right. After I did what Picard wanted – whatever it was he thought was more important than the breakdown he didn’t realize I was having even as it was staring him in the face, I retired to my cabin and stayed there, attempting to wipe this hell from my mind and maybe drown myself in alcohol as I stared at the only picture of Jana in existence, that I was aware of; a drawing that Beautiful Flower had made. I was completely unaware of the chaos that ensued as soon as I had stepped out – I was too absorbed in my own mind to think about anything else for hours.

But as soon as I stepped out, Sylar took it upon himself to inform the admiral that his behavior toward me was unacceptable. To inform him that I was clearly dissociating and he would know that if he had just paid attention, but he decided to do this by pushing him against the wall and wrapping his hand firmly, but at the moment harmlessly, around the old man’s neck. That didn’t sit well with Zhaban, who had no reason to believe that Sylar was purely warning and meant no harm. It was his duty to protect Picard. So he did. But Zhaban being a Romulan and ex-Tal Shiar agent meant Sylar would not, _could not_ take violent action against him. He submitted as soon as Zhaban went into action, and Zhaban’s violence caused Sylar’s conditioning to be activated within seconds. Zhaban couldn’t hit someone who wouldn’t hit back, but Sylar’s conditioning dictated that he be punished for his disobedience. He tried to do it himself. But Emil was faster, and he was able to stop him from doing any serious damage to himself. He was brought in to sickbay.

Raffi tried to get in to me, but I refused to let anyone in. Eventually she got past my defenses and I allowed her access to my cabin. After she got to the bottom of it all, Vandermeer and Jana and Soji, Commodore Oh and the whole damn Romulan conspiracy, she sat with me. But she had to tell me what happened to Sylar while I was closed off in here. Everything I had missed because I wouldn’t let anyone in. Because I pushed Sylar away just as I did everyone else. The guilt was overwhelming. My first thought was to dump Picard and Zhaban on the nearest planet or worse (far, far worse). I wanted to give up on their entire suicide mission, but Raffi talked me out of it, convinced me that before I did anything else, I needed to go be at Sylar’s side. I needed to face what I had caused – and she was right.

He was quiet, unable to really talk for any period of time longer than a few sentences. But I was there for him. Provided him with the comfort he needed during one of those rare times he actually asked for it, openly admitting to its necessity. I sat with him, and… He kissed me. The human way. It was the first time we had done that since that night when he first touched me telepathically, something that was a blur to me and completely a blank to Sylar. Vulcan kisses were a regular occurrence; I would caress his hands without hesitation. But physical closeness beyond that… I had no idea where his boundaries were, considering what they had done to him, I didn’t want to risk it, but in that moment he needed my closeness and the comfort of my dominance and I provided it. And during all of that, between the trauma and the comfort he made a telepathic connection with his touch telepathy and it was startling. The things I saw during that time… I already knew a lot more details at that point about what he had been through, but never like that. I was filled with raw emotion and a strong need and he needed comfort and I found that I did not want him out of my head. His thought process was fascinating, the entirety of his mind was breathtaking and the fact that it was hurting me wasn’t a consideration in that desperate need to know him in any way I could, or maybe it was a primary factor. Maybe I needed to feel his pain.

The reason never mattered, all I knew after that night was there was no way I could deprive us of that bond. That there was a way to permanently connect our minds so that I never had to feel that jarring, bone-chilling silence and emptiness in my head when we had to release each other’s hands. We could be one forever, and he had always wanted that but he would never try to force it on me, but now I knew that I needed it, I needed to have him in my mind.

And that bond is so much more than that simple connection that night. We are bound to each other so intricately it would be impossible to extricate us from the other's mind. Now he has all of me, completely. I willingly give myself to him as he gave himself to me. The only person I would ever let know all of me, every inch of my mind and every thought. I love him with all that I am. Now he has his telepathic tendrils so deeply rooted inside my mind and I know that at any moment, all it would take is the slightest squeeze to destroy my mind completely. I have seen it many times; seen him shatter a man’s mind with a single touch, and that is without being so firmly entwined within their minds. It would be so simple to obliterate my mind, yet all he does is explore it with a gentle curiosity, a deep fascination with all that I am and the loving gentleness to bring pleasure and serenity to the tempest that rages endlessly inside my mind. He calms the storm of my soul with a gentle whisper.

_I am safe with him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'vec Sylar belongs to Telas_Selar


	8. The Tragedy of Grand Heroic Captains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rios reflects on the similarities in the tragedy of his bondmate and of his late mentor, that the two most important men in his life, although seemingly very different from each other, have some important things in common that probably says a lot of the tragedy of Rios himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this individually, but I am adding it to this collection, too.
> 
> My notes from then were: I am behind on the Whumptober things, but here's an angst fic instead. I also have a bit of a dramatic one with a (much needed) comic relief supplemental story in the works. Also, my birthday is in a little over half an hour! 
> 
> (The site says it was posted on my birthday, however, according to whatever timezone they're based on)

At first glance, you wouldn’t think that Sylar and Vandermeer had much in common. Vandermeer was closer to Rios, but less reserved. He was sentimental, emotional, moral. A natural-born leader. The best Starfleet had to offer. He would have joined the ranks of the Greats like Kirk and Picard if his life hadn’t come to its tragic conclusion when it did. Sylar was distant, unemotional, detached. He followed orders perfectly and he followed Surak’s logic religiously. And Cris had wanted that. He wanted the difference. But there’s a pattern with Cris, because maybe it wasn’t the emotion vs. logic dynamic that drew him to both men.

Hero.

Killer.

Where is the line between Grand, Heroic Captain and Cold-Blooded Murderer? He goes back and forth on it all the time. Is it wrong that he can’t see that line anymore? Because he loved his captain, pops, his old man. He was a mentor and a hero to him and when he had taken the lives of innocents it was such a hard betrayal for him to handle and even after holding his captain’s bloody corpse in his arms he’s never fully forgiven him for it, even as he wept over his lifeless body. Even after he’s mourned his death for years, he can’t forgive Vandermeer and he can’t forgive himself. He can’t forgive Starfleet and he can’t move on, even after finding out the truth.

And Sylar. His husband, his bondmate, the love of his life. These two tragic men have more in common than meets the eye. Even a nickname for Sylar echoes something he would call his captain. _Viejo._ “Old man.” Sylar. Hero, killer, _former_ captain. Of course, Sylar would deny being a hero, but he is to Cris. He has saved Cris so many times, too many of those times involved him shattering people’s minds so irrevocably as to utterly destroy them and the first time he saw it happen he felt sick. The shots of the phaser beams from his captain’s weapon echoed in his head years later as he saw his CMO decimate a man’s brain in front of his eyes and he realized that it’s happening again.

 _He did it to save them._ Sylar saved Cris’s life, his own life (although that wasn’t a consideration), the lives of others because they would have hurt other people and Cris tried to justify it, but he also knows that, like Vandermeer, Sylar has taken the lives of innocents as well as the guilty. Vandermeer did it to save his crew, everyone on the ship. Fired shots into the heads of two innocents to save hundreds. It was a _logical_ choice. Cris always hated the “trolley” dilemma as old Earth philosophy called it. As a lover of philosophy, it’s a problem he knows well, but that was never one he was fond of. It’s an uncomfortable subject, but philosophy isn’t meant to be _comfortable._ It was harder to execute in practice then it was in theory.

They were always putting others before themselves. It came so naturally to them, thoughts of themselves never even crossed their mind, especially Sylar.

And then comes the worst part. As horrible of a person it might make him, he could handle the murders. Now, after all this time, he’s had time for the pain to set in, he could be able to handle it. That’s the tragic part. He’s proving it with Sylar. He just wanted his captain back. The suicide is the worst part. Vandermeer did it because of him. He couldn’t help but believe that if he hadn’t been so hard on him, if they had just done what they had to do and he’d helped him through the guilt, that he’d still be here right now. And Sylar… Sylar’s death wish isn’t because of him, but he’s exacerbated it far too many times for his liking. Sylar feels like his death would protect him. Sometimes he feels like the logical thing to do would be to kill himself. That their association, their love, puts Cris’s life in danger and the only way to protect him from it would be his death. But he couldn’t bare to lose Sylar that way. It _would_ be his fault. Although, he knows now, that just before Sylar heard he had been reassigned to _La Sirena_ he was seconds away from taking his own life. With a phaser that is still on his ship now. It almost… Felt like fate. That his decision to accept Sylar’s reassignment saved him from suicide. Almost a redemption of sorts, but he knows he’s only one wrong move away from losing the love of his life the same way he lost his mentor… His father figure… The only family he had had left at the time. He was hollow and empty for years after Vandermeer’s death, but Sylar brought life back into him. Vandermeer’s death devastated him. But Sylar’s death would destroy him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'vec Sylar belongs to Telas_Selar.


	9. Call Me Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylar thinks his relationship with Rios could lead to Rios's death. Cris decides he doesn't care and that it was a preferable death to any other he could imagine himself having.

It's easy to think you are darkness when all you can see is the darkness around you and you cannot see your own light, but that light is the only thing that's keeping me going, guiding me. There's only darkness around me too, except for the one star, a bright light that is the only thing I can hold onto. You are the only star in the sky I can use to navigate by, the only thing that lets me know I am not alone in this abyss; that lets me know where I am, and who I am, and that I am. People have warned me about your dangers, including you. You think you do nothing but bring harm, burn everything that comes into your light, but the light of the sun is the basis for all life on the planets that orbit it. But you warn against getting too close, lest I get burned. Then call me Icarus and let me fly too close, burn my wings. Let me fall into your gravity because I'd rather be consumed by your flames than stranded in the void, hopeless and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'vec Sylar belongs to Telas_Selar.


End file.
